A/N: Parts of this may not make sense to you if you haven't been reading my other story, but this is pretty much all you need to know to make sense of it: Everyone's been cured and Bobo wants some champagne for the party.
I wrote this in four days flat; I have no clue how. I certainly had better things to be doing.
This story is based off of a prompt that I (misguidedly) wrote for myself as one of my review replies in Chapter 11 of "Generator Rex Season 4". This ficlet is dedicated to LilySRichards and FloatingPizza, two consistent reviewers of mine who inspired me to write this. It's also dedicated to YellowAngela: for no reason whatsoever, other than the fact that she's completely awesome. If you post Gen Rex fanfic as well, you know what I mean.
Original Prompt: I can, however, tell you that it involved the third-most creative use of pipe cleaners in the history of mankind, a pickup truck half out of gasoline, a guard who'd watched too much anime the night before, some steel rope, and the wildest night that the little town of Somerset had ever seen…
Disclaimer: I have decided, after much deliberation, that 'Disclaimers' are not really intended to be 'Disclaimers', so much as platforms for the author to make witty comments regarding the general absurdity of explicitly stating that a piece of work posted on a FANFICTION website is not any way official. The very concept is as ridiculous as me saying that I own Generator Rex. Which I don't, if you were wondering.
Bobo's Day Out
By Vetty123
Some days after the Second Nanite Event,
Unknown location
The sun had set a while ago, leaving flickering fluorescent lights to illuminate the scene with their erratic flashes. The ten-foot high electric fence menaced any who would dare intrude upon the grounds, static crackling ominously along the wires in the dusky light. The area had been abandoned, but behind the fence laid a myriad of anti-personnel devices just waiting to deliver a world of pain to the first person who intruded.
The property itself was large and expansive, teeming with verdant plants arrayed near stunning water features, with magnificent sculptures dotting the landscape. The domain was well-kept, and there was not a single blemish to be seen anywhere on the terrain. Millions of dollars had been poured into the construction to ensure its perfection, and the overpaid architect had certainly delivered.
The rolling hills at the back of the land were covered with lush grass waving gently in the night wind, cattle lowing peaceably as they grazed under the twinkling starlight. A light breeze blew through the field, rustling the leaves softly and sending a light sigh through the tranquil night.
This was the private estate and ranch of Ernest Roswell, a rich oil mogul with large holdings in various mines around the world; not to mention being the leader of an international arms smuggling ring. As evinced by his unusual attire and his expansive pastures, he had always fancied himself as something of a cowboy, finding something alluring about the call of the open prairies. Of course, the term "world domination" did have an attractive ring to it as well.
It had only been a few days since his associates' nefarious scheme to dominate the universe through the power of the meta-nanites had been foiled, but it seemed as though there was already a group of grave-robbers moving around within the manor grounds, treading extremely lightly for fear of alerting the automated defense mechanisms. Unfortunately for them, the building was on self-defense mode, and had unleashed its fury upon them promptly.
The security was top-notch: everyone on the three-man squad could attest to that with every scratch on their faces and bruise on their bodies. This knowledge did nothing to deter them from their ultimate goal, however, and they continued to press on in the face of countless barrages from traps and tripwires. Through all the trials and tribulations; the pain and consternation, the intrepid group pressed ever on, cutting deep swathes into the territory of their vanquished enemies. Never ceasing their dauntless forays, they slowly worked their way towards the fortress of their foes and their ultimate prize.
Only once did a member of the team raise their voice in mild doubt; and then only when they'd been pinned down for the fourteenth time by machine gun fire from the security drones that had been alerted. Asking querulously in a distinctly feminine tone, the figure inquired:
"And you're absolutely positive White gave us permission to go and loot the mansion of a former member of the Consortium, right? This isn't some kind of elaborate scheme to steal something from them before the regular government gets around to it, is it?"
There was a brief moment of silence, which was especially impressive due to the fact that the gang was cowering behind a marble sculpture while gunfire sang out all the while. After a short pause, the shorter of her companions reached up a disproportionately lanky arm and draped it around her shoulders, a malevolent grin gleaming on his wide face.
"Don't worry about it, Kenwyn. What both you and the boss there fail to realize is that this package is absolutely vital to the success of Providence's final mission."
The third figure spoke up, interjecting logically, "But didn't we just save the world at last? Why would we need to go on more missions? Are you holding out on me, Bobo?"
The accused chimp in question crossed his heart and raised an arm solemnly over his head…before lowering it hastily to prevent it from being blown off by machine gun fire. Nonetheless, he placed the arm over his heart and assumed a shocked position.
"Do you really believe me to be capable of such a base act of greed and self-aggrandizement so soon after the world has been reset? Wake up, my delusional friends! Have your minds lost the wonderful ability to enjoy the life and nature about you? The sun is shining –"
"It's the dead of night", the first speaker (Kenwyn) pointed out astutely in a whisper to her companion, who nodded agreement.
"– birds are singing soothingly –"
"Birds?" Rex whispered back. "What birds? The only singing I can hear is the gunfire blazing over us, and that is in no way 'soothing', you know!"
Ignoring the constant breaks in his monologue, Bobo pressed on: "– and all's well with the world."
A vein pulsed warningly on Kenwyn's forehead menacingly as she realized the chimp had been clumsily dodging her question all the while. She was no fool, however, and saw right through his efforts to bluff his way around the problem.
"Look here, you flea-ridden good-for-nothing primate, that party is scheduled to happen tonight, you know. It's been over three years since I had an actual day off of work, and I was seriously looking forward to some downtime. Furthermore, Walter has actually worked up the nerve to ask me to go to the big celebration with him – which is impressive, because that boy is about as assertive around girls as your average…squid. Now, if I find that you've pulled me away from the largest party of the century just to steal some ridiculous item to satisfy your own greedy impulses…"
Her voice trailed off ominously, leaving the threat unspoken. Bobo saw some unspoken chemistry there, but realized it would probably be safer to just keep his mouth shut.
The entire subtext flew completely by Rex, who had gathered only one thing from Kenwyn's rant. "Oh man, that's right! I'm could be missing the party right now! And I heard that they were giving out an unlimited supply of free punch! Come on guys, we gotta hurry!"
Silently blessing the kid for the distraction, Bobo got the ball rolling again. "OK squad, you heard the chief! The clock is ticking here, so let's move it! Rex, do your best to neutralize the security! Kenwyn 'n me'll draw their fire while you work, so get cracking, boss!"
Guns blazing and questions unanswered, Bobo leapt out from behind the shelter and resumed the assault, leaving his two unsatisfied assistants behind.
The interior of the house matched with the outside – opulent and excessive. The interior designers had held nothing back on this place, and the result had to be seen to be believed. Padding softly along the inch-thick Persian carpet laying on the floor, the noble intruders got their first glimpse of the building that had been hidden behind so many layers of security.
Chandeliers refracted and glistened in the light of their hand-held flashlights, and imposing portraits stared down from the walls. Famous paintings – originals, every single one – littered the corridors, with imposing battle scenes frozen timelessly on canvas. Sculptures were mounted on simple pedestals at aesthetically pleasing intervals, drawing one's attention to them simply by their strategic placement.
The rooms were many and varied, filled with furniture of the highest elegance. Mahogany couches overflowed with swan feather cushions, while luscious silk drapes hung from the arched ceilings. Specks of starlight trickled in through the 3-inch thick French glass windows, casting small patches of illumination here and there.
Through this magnificently luxurious abode our heroes strode, soaking in the extravagant atmosphere through their pores. However, even the presence of such sumptuous furnishings did nothing to soothe their minds, and their bickering continued as they stalked through the palatial halls.
"I'm fairly certain that we're violating several district ordinances simply by being here."
"Oh, dry up, squirt. Whatever happened to the good old adventuring spirit every kid used to have?"
"Mine was excised fairly thoroughly when I saw an EVO try to eat my family alive, thanks," she replied drily. "Stop trying to change the subject. Why are we going to the cellars again?"
The chimp let out an exasperated sigh. "I told you, there's something extremely important down there. Haven't you watched the movies?"
"No, I have not watched 'the movies', as you put it. Providence does not approve of their employees indulging themselves, even when on their breaks. In my free time, I go to the firing range."
"That was a rhetorical question, as you well know, and as such did not require a response. Seriously, get a life, lady. Anyway, if you'd seen any decent action movies, then you'd know that the bad guy's lair is always in the basement of his house. Geez, it's like I'm talking to a dinosaur – how do you not know this stuff? It's in all the classics!"
"Well, excuse me for being dedicated to my job," Kenwyn retorted, opening the door to the cellars with a bang. She looked around and noticed that their group was missing someone. "Rex, where've you got to?"
The Hispanic teen under discussion stumbled out of a large drawing room nearby, eyes wide as saucers. "And that's not all – I was snooping about the kitchen, and I found this!" He excitedly held up a pack of colorful pipe cleaners, waving about in his friends' faces. "Look! Pipe cleaners! And they were actually kept in the kitchen, in a box that said "plumbing supplies" on the front! They were using them to clean the pipe! What kind of weirdo uses pipe cleaners for their intended purpose?"
He lowered his voice ominously, pocketing the pipe cleaners unconsciously. "And that's not all. Just take a look in that room." Warned by his serious tone of voice, Bobo and Kenwyn took a tentative peek around the corner.
It appeared to be some kind of trophy room, with the walls decorated ostentatiously with the proof of the man's former conquests. Animals of all kinds, from all climates, were arrayed flatteringly on the wall. Lions, zebras, crocodiles – the room was a taxidermist's dream come true. The atmosphere was so overpoweringly oppressive that not a single member of the team would have been surprised to see a neatly labeled human head put up somewhere.
"I saw more of them further in," Rex moaned, shivering. "Do you have any idea how many animal heads this sicko has mounted on the wall by his fireplace?" he asked. "All those glittering eyes…this place is muy freaky."
As the team descended into the darkness of the basement, Bobo spoke in a somber tone of voice. "Team, have you forgotten where we are? This is the private residence of Ernest Roswell, financier and member of the Consortium, that organization that came so near to dominating the universe. He singlehandedly trashed an entire city when empowered by a meta-nanite. He was a ruthless adversary, a cunning dealer, and a savage foe."
He continued on his dark vein: "More than that, though. His black market arms smuggling organization spanned continents not too long ago, and he ran legendary operations from one city to another. The authorities never caught him a single time, and yet the weapons kept finding their way into the wrong hands. Heck, even I tried to catch him one time, and all I wound up doing was getting lost in Southern Morocco."
His voice lowered. "It gets worse, though. Among the lower levels of the criminal underworld – an' I mean the lowest layers imaginable – rumors still persist that Roswell'd decided that just smuggling weapons wasn't good enough for him – he was going to make some instead. They say that the only reason Ernest Roswell ever joined the Consortium was because his weapon was just too powerful."
Rex stuttered out the question, stammering, "H-How powerful are we talking, exactly?"
Bobo leaned in close, drawing his prey in for the kill. "It was never found, but those in the know claim that he'd managed to develop a super-weapon that would destroy the entire world if it was set off."
Kenwyn and Rex looked at each other with wide eyes. "And that's what we're here to collect? A bomb that could potentially destroy the entire planet?"
Bobo said nothing, merely plodding on down the stairs, letting his silence answer the question for him. His two followers immediately shelved their suspicions and remained on high alert. Such a dangerous weapon could not allowed to remain at large, and they both swore to themselves that they'd do whatever it took to secure the package safely.
Roswell had also been one of the world's leading collectors of vintage champagne, but the chimp had conveniently forgotten to mention that insignificant little detail. He smirked as he walked along.
Let 'em come to their own conclusions, he said to himself. After all, he thought, assuming a pious face, I haven't told a lie.
Suitably impressed by the seriousness of their mission, the trio slunk down the wooden stairs into a sprawling underground network of tunnels. Following the signs, Bobo led the two straight to their destination. They halted outside a large wooden door, and their de facto leader raised a hand to stop the two.
"You two chumps stand guard here. I'll go in and pull the cargo out."
Kenwyn pointed out the obvious holes in that plan. "Wait, guard the door from what? There's no security in the house, and we haven't seen anybody in all the time we've been walking down here…" She ceased her arguments when she found herself talking to a closed door.
Bobo rubbed his hands together as he surveyed the tall wine racks stretching out on either side of him. This is going to be fun.
The chimpanzee groaned as he pulled the crate up the stairs. His hands gripped the steel rope tightly as he strained every muscle in his body. On second thoughts, maybe taking a little less would have been a better idea.
Rex and Kenwyn, who were pushing it up from the bottom and were struggling as much as he was, were thinking similar thoughts. "Do you think you could lighten it a bit? Or maybe let me use my Smack Hands to lift it?"
"I can't…it's under a lot of pressure right now, and shaking it could make the whole thing pop." It was true. The champagne had been the extra-bubbly variety, and Bobo was worried that the pent-up gas could shoot out one of the bottle's corks, which would probably shatter the whole thing. Of course, he thought with a malicious grin, phrasing the sentence like that's just a little bonus.
Kenwyn's face went an interesting shade of green when she heard this, and she redoubled her efforts to move it up the stairs gently. Rex's face washed as white as a sheet when he thought about Bobo's warning, and he was reminded indelibly of the unstable nanites from that whole mess with Gatlocke; except this time, they were holding a real bomb that could blow up if he shook it too much.
After a lot of nerve-wracking heave-ing and ho-ing, they managed to lug the delicate crate outside the manor, where they had a short breather and retook stock of their situation. Their minds immediately turned to the pressing matter of how they were going to get back to base.
"I could just drive you all there on my bike, you know," Rex supplied hopefully. "That's how the three of us got here in the first place, so there shouldn't be any trouble with me taking us all back that way."
Bobo shook his head. "Are you nuts, kid? That thing weighs more than all three of us combined. Your nanites couldn't take the stress for more than five minutes. No, we need something else."
Kenwyn walked out of the nearby barn, holding her nose delicately. "Well…I found us a ride…but it's a real fixer-upper.
"How so?" Bobo asked, relieved that there seemed to actually be a way out of this mess.
She led the small crew to the back of the farm shed, where there was an old, rusted vehicle lying partially covered by a bale of hay. A seriously overweight cow was steadily chewing in the hay, jaw grinding away merrily as it unconcernedly filled its belly. It was understandably rather unwilling to move away from its prime feeding area, and it took some heavy pushing from the trio to convince the recalcitrant beast to shift itself.
Having nobly removed the cow from the vicinity, Rex proceeded to pick the hay up with his Smack Hands and cart it into the barn. As the teen did so, Bobo gave the stone-age rustbucket a quick one over. The rusting hinges and peeling paint made it difficult for him to properly assess is condition, but he did his best. After a quick preliminary inspection, he raised his eyes to the heavens sardonically before shaking his head and pronouncing:
"Will wonders never cease? As if giving us heavy security and obnoxious bovines wasn't enough, the powers that be have seen fit to bestow upon us…a beat-up pickup truck half out of gasoline. I'm feeling so blessed right now, you would not believe it."
Lowering his eyes and turning grouchily to his friends, he groused, "This thing looks like it's been through several dozen wars, and then decided to drive through a minefield for good luck. It's like somebody ran a bucket of sand through the tubing, and it's a miracle the engine's still in one piece."
He began pointing out more flaws, listing them off his fingers. "The tires are low on air, the carburetor deserves to be in an antique store, the suspension is as bouncy as a pile of rocks, the chassis is disintegrating before my eyes, and, worst of all: the radio can only access the weather channel!"
Kenwyn was unfazed by this litany of defects, and bluntly asked the only question she really cared about: "Can it get us out of this place?"
Bobo scratched the back of his head while making noncommittal noises. "Get us out of here? Probably, although we may have to get down and push. Take us all the way home? Not a chance, sister. However, unless one of you bright sparks has any better ideas, this is what we'll be going with."
Kenwyn looked at Rex, who had resignedly started lifting the crate gingerly into the back of the truck. She swiveled back to the chimp and sighed. "Needs must where the devil drives, I guess…"
At this, Bobo cracked a frankly unsettling smile. "Oh, believe you me, the devil ain't got nothing on how I drive."
Kenwyn gulped and decided to buckle up extra tight for this ride - a precaution that turned out to be well warranted when Bobo fired the engine up like a racecar and revved it noisily for several seconds, letting the clunking engine turn over a few times before driving out of the estate merrily. The gate swung shut behind them, ready to terrorize the next burglars to come along.
"Great, now we can really get moving," Bobo cackled, careening along the road haphazardly while Rex, in the back, tried desperately to keep the crate holding the 'bomb' level through the driver's crazy turns. Eventually, even Kenwyn grew a bit concerned about the chimp's driving, especially considering the delicate cargo they were transporting. The reminder of the fragility of his loot brought Bobo under a semblance of control, and things went smoothly for another thirty minutes as the rickety trick zoomed along the dusty road. Then Rex noticed something interesting.
Rolling parallel to the car, a rubber tire, hub and all, was merrily keeping pace with the truck. Kicking up dirt in its wake as it made its way forward, the errant tire resembled a bizarre species of tumbleweed more than anything else. Rex leaned over to get a closer look.
"Huh. Where'd that wheel come from?" He queried, completely missing the fact that the trio's own vehicle was now limited to three wheels. Unfortunately for the occupants, the laws of physics still held sway even during such an insane endeavor. When Rex leaned in to get his closer look, he displaced their center of gravity ever so slightly, bringing the bare metal of the exposed wheel socket into contact with the rushing ground.
The ensuing events raised a massive dust cloud over the scene, hiding the impressive triple spin executed by the group, as well as the barrel roll the truck was thrown into. Suffice to say, our miraculously unharmed heroes soon found that their ride was officially out of commission.
Clambering from the driver's seat, Bobo inspected the damage. Surprisingly enough, the frame of the truck was largely unscathed, and the champagne – err, the deadly bomb – appeared to be intact. Sighing in relief, the chimp turned his attention to the wheel itself.
Apparently, the bolts that had been holding the tire in place had rusted off, or had never been tightened in the first place. Looking for them on the road would be a waste of time, so the team would need to find an alternate way to hold the wheel to the axle.
Shaking his head dizzily, Rex unsteadily climbed out from the back. Tracing the truck's route bask to the main road, he picked up the tire and rolled it wearily over. "Well, what's the damage?"
Bobo shook his head. "It's not looking good, chief. The bolts fell out a while ago on the road, so we can't use them to reattach the tire. If I had my steel rope, I might be able to temporarily strap the two together, but I accidentally left that back at the manor, so we're going to have to think of something else."
Kenwyn emerged from the passenger side, having finally managed to get her seatbelt undone. "Well, walk back and get it, you moron! Without that rope, we can't fix the truck, so get walking, capisce?"
"Yeah, like I'm going to storm back through the security surrounding that dump! Nice try, lady, but there's no way that's gonna happen."
As the two argued back and forth, Rex stuck his hands in his pockets and found that he'd hung onto the packet of pipe cleaners he'd picked up earlier. Tossing them lightly in his hand, he looked at the truck's axle and scrunched his forehead. Looking back and forth between the two for a minute, his eyes widened as he was struck by inspiration.
"Guys," he declared, breaking into their heated argument. The two rounded on him furiously, asking him if he had something to say, and if he didn't, to shut up and sit down. He faced them with a broad smile.
"I have an idea."
As evening set upon the wide plains surrounding them, Bobo whistled as they trundled successfully down the highway. "That's gotta be the third most creative way to use a pipe cleaner that I have ever seen."
The wheel hummed contentedly as it ate up the ground beneath it. The colorful fuzzy twists that were being used in place of actual screws blurred together, forming a dazzling kaleidoscope of whirling color. There were roughly three pipe cleaners to each socket, braided intricately for maximum tensile strength.
"What were the first two?" Kenwyn asked curiously. She was intrigued: what could possibly be more creative than using pipe cleaners instead of bolts to keep a tire attached to the car?
The chimp turned and squinted at her, before shaking her head and sighing heavily. "Clearly, you've never been to Monte Carlo."
"What's that got to do with anything, you reprobate? Answer the question, don't just change the subject!"
As Bobo opened his mouth to spit out a retort, Rex sang out from his position in the back. "Hey guys, I can see a small town ahead! Let's take a quick pit stop for some snacks and water, OK?"
There were no disagreements, and soon the group was driving their way into a disused gas station on the center of the little town of Somerset. Upon arriving, they dismounted and stretched their cramping limbs, soaking in the dying rays of the setting sun. Bobo cracked his knuckles, then gestured towards the small shop.
"I'm gonna grab some grub. Take care of the crate, and don't let anything happen to it. I'll be back in a few shakes." And with that, he strolled off to inspect the delicacies on sale.
Rex called out after him, "Get me some soda, OK?" The chimp waved an arm in acquiescence without turning around, entering the shop with a jangle.
Sighing loudly, Kenwyn collapsed onto the back of the truck and closed her eyes. The stress associated with carrying a bomb that had the power to blow the entire planet to kingdom come was considerable, and she could feel a migraine coming on. She consoled herself with the fact that, at the rate they were traveling, they'd make it to Providence in time.
…Providing that her companions on the journey didn't drive her crazy before then. She cracked an eye open to look at Rex, who was studying the crate avidly. Turning her head a fraction, she watched him examine the crate from all angles, hemming and hawing nervously all the while. I don't want to know, I don't want to know…
The worried noises grew slightly louder, and Rex started circling around the crate like it was…well, like it was a bomb. He even bent over and examined the floor under the box – heaven knows what he was looking for down there.
Finally succumbing to temptation, she spoke up:
"What are you doing?"
Rex didn't flinch a single muscle, carrying on his inspection while answering in a deadly serious tone of choice, "I think we've some something terribly wrong.
Kenwyn raised her head a few inches. "Oh? Why do you say that?"
Pointing, Rex answered, "Because something's leaking from the bottom of the case."
Galvanized into motion at last, Kenwyn leapt to her feet. "Where? What kind of liquid?" This could be really bad.
"It's some kind of transparent liquid. It started dripping out just a minute ago."
I suppose I asked for it.
Kenwyn reached out a finger to touch it, only to have her arm caught by the teenager, who hissed at her in an undertone.
"Are you crazy? Don't touch that stuff! Who knows what kind of messed up explosives are in this thing!"
Kenwyn, however, was not listening to him. She had caught a faint whiff of a familiar scent – a distinct odor that she certainly did not associate with weapons that could destroy the entire planet. To be perfectly frank, she'd always associated this particular smell with…high-end parties. It couldn't be…could it?
Ignoring Rex's panicked warnings not to touch the fluid, tentatively dipped a finger in the small puddle and sniffed it gently. It sure smells like it is…The final test - she placed it in her mouth, sampling the unique flavor of pristine champagne.
Her face took on a murderous appearance as she mechanically moved towards the crate, tuning out Rex's rather frenetic pleas as he implored her to snap out of it. It was only when she'd broken of the lid of the crate that he'd broken off, momentarily stunned by what he saw.
Row upon row of cylindrical bottles were lovingly arrayed within the confines of the box, taking up every cubic inch of free space available. Their labels were written in elegant cursive, and were covered with fancy French titles that sounded extremely expensive. In the bottom corner, one of the bottles had sustained a spider web crack and was slowly seeping the drink into the crate, which would explain the leakage.
For several minutes, Kenwyn and Rex stood motionless, transfixed by the sheer magnitude of what they were looking at. Their minds grew clearer as a new vista of deception was opened to them, and their eyes darkened as they envisioned tearing the culprit limb from limb. The almost hypnotic silence was broken by the chimp himself returning, twirling a bag of goodies around one finger nonchalantly, unaware of his impending doom.
"Sorry, chief, but they were all out of –" he stopped short as he took in the throbbing veins on his companions' faces, not to mention the murderous intent radiating off of them. His single eye flicked from his friends' faces to the open champagne crate, to the heavens, back to his friends' faces.
His shoulders slumped and his fez drooped forward. With a longsuffering look on his face, he summed up his situation in two words.
"Ohh, boy"
The small town of Somerset reveled in its fictitious nature, glorying in its authorially (aka, celestially) bestowed power to not have to conform to any other town in existence through the magnanimity of plot devices. Yes, this imaginary town was basking jauntily in the full knowledge of its ability to be completely visible in the minds-eye of the reader with no description of itself whatsoever.
Some people just have it made.
In between the reveling, however, it found time to luxuriate in the peace and quiet of the setting sun. It was a truly marvelous evening, the magnificent golden light casting ever-lengthening shadows on the tired ground. Just another quiet and somnolent afternoon in the little town of Somerset, enjoying yet another day passing into night. Nothing ever happened here.
This evening, however, would be slightly different. Over the course of a few hours, the town was inundated with sounds and noises that far surpassed any disturbance caused by EVOs in the past. Residents would have no idea what was going on until the morning, when they tentatively crept out of their individual hiding places and moved to assess the damage.
As far as they could tell by tracing the clear-cut trail of damage about, the carnage had really started at the old gas station. Nothing more than a smoldering husk now, they crept into the blackened convenience suite; where Manny the station manager was pouring his tale of woe out to anyone who listened.
"It was right terrible," the grizzled old man bawled as he simultaneously filled out two insurance claim sheets – one for damage to property and one for medical treatment for stress. "Ah can still see that young hooligan of a girl firing willy-nilly about the place with that pistol of hers. By gum, 'twas simple luck that the station didn't blow up before they drove out. Funny thing: the two of 'em were chasing summat kind of monkey in that truck o' theirs, but it sure weren't hangin' around to be caught."
The general disorder following the strangers had led directly to the town's ancient water tank. Formerly a symbol of the town's pioneering history, the structure had been ruptured last night by a violently hurled projectile. Eyewitnesses were uncertain what the Unidentified Flying Object was, precisely, but an interview with Old Mother Wanda proved most revealing.
"Well, I was just knittin' on the front patio quietly like I do every evenin', jus' mindin' mah own business. It was the day I gen'lly do mah famous Sweaters Against Drunk Drivers series, and I was on the eighty-seventh one for the day when the tower goes whoosh!"
"Now, lookin' up at the tower, I sure couldn't see much of what was goin' on. Then I heard a crashing noise, like, and saw a kind of hairy animal falling to the middle of the road, drippin' water everywhere like a doormat laid to dry. As I watched, the creature jumped up an' onto my neighbor's motorbike, did somethin' to th'ignition, and took off faster than a mustang from a hornet's bite."
Several other bystanders had seen the motorcycle roar through town, narrowly dodging shots from the following pickup truck that laid waste to their surroundings. Several witnesses claimed the biker was a short, very hairy man being pursued by the truck, shouting and receiving invectives at a terrific rate. He nonchalantly broke the peace in every way imaginable, tearing through town while spouting profanities and leaving a wake of wreckage behind.
The pickup truck behind him was little better. The occupants were somewhat obscured due to the frame of the vehicle itself, but there was little to no doubt that they were dangerous. The truck, which sported an interesting hubcap on one of its wheels (some claimed these were pipe cleaners, but they were clearly seeing things. What would pipe cleaners be doing on the wheel of a truck?), careered through town crazily, plowing through everything in its path while wildly firing some form of bazooka at the motorcyclist, who dodged everything expertly.
When asked, Little Jimmy On His Way To The Candy Store said that the motorcycle had actually managed to pull off a twisting double backflip while dodging several destructive missiles that went on to destroy City Hall; a feat Jimmy had officially dubbed 'wicked sick'. Nobody was sure what he meant by this: the wrecking of the mayor's office, or the aforementioned twisting double backflip.
After wrecking a few more iconic buildings and defacing several monuments, the three terrorists took to the highway once more, whooping and hollering as they headed down the road to Providence.
Despite the mass destruction and general trauma associated with the incident, it was one of the most talked about events for the rest of the year. This was hardly surprising, given how little usually happened in the town of Somerset. This rampage was so unusual that, till this very day, the story remains immortalized in the local folklore, passed down orally through the generations.
After all, it had been, without the shadow of a doubt, the wildest night that the little town of Somerset had ever seen…
Beasly was tired.
Not your average, run-of-the-mill', I just need to lie down for a minute' kind of tired. No, Beasly was exhausted. His eyes kept drifting closed when he wasn't paying attention, and he was actually hallucinating slightly from the sleep deprivation.
I suppose that that's what you get when you stay up till 3 o'clock partying with the troops, watch cartoon reruns with Wade till dawn, then march out and expect to actually be capable of functioning in a meaningful way.
Still, he thought as he yawned hugely, It could have been a lot worse than this. Besides, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity – how often do they play a Ben10 marathon on the early morning TV channels? Totally worth it.
He rubbed his burning eyes. The only downside of the deal was that his vision was seriously impaired from all the staring at a screen he'd done last night. Nonetheless, he hasn't had any problems so far, and didn't expect to –
He blinked, shook his head violently, and took a look outside again. Is that…Bobo on a bike? Impossible! This has to be an impostor.
His hand moved to call security and warn them of the approaching interloper, but something stayed his fingers. What if he was just seeing things? He'd be the laughing stock of the battalion! After a lot of hard and dangerous work, he'd earned a sizeable rep among the grunts for his performance in the Bug Jar; and he really did not want to go down in history as nothing but a guard who'd watched too much anime the night before and had called the guards out for nothing.
On the other hand, allowing anybody to approach Providence HQ without issuing a challenge to them was severely against protocol. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Beasly stood frozen by indecision for a solid minute. Do I let him in?
By this time, the chimp was already at the gate, asking to be buzzed in rather insistently, even keying in the emergency access code. That alone verified the chimp's authenticity, but the irregularity of the entire situation was still present. Beasly's sleep-deprived mind was confusedly trying to work out what course of action to treasure. Eventually, he decided to open the doors and let security deal with it: he was way too tired to deal with this kind of thing.
With that, the main entrance swung open slowly. As soon as there was enough crawl space, Bobo gunned the engine and ducked under the rising space rapidly, leaving rubber tire marks in his wake as he screeched to a halt. Hopping off the bike, he hollered, "Shut the door fast, you nitwits!"
Beasly thought about it for a moment. Why would the chimp want that so desperately? Was someone on his tail? Before he could expend too much time thinking about it, he saw something moving on the horizon… something moving fast. He radioed an alert down to the main gate immediately.
"This is Beasly on the lookout tower. We have a visible hostile moving rapidly towards our position. It looks like…a pickup truck, and it's about half a klick out; ETA is about twenty seconds." He peered through his glasses, forcing his raw eyes to take in some details. "The occupants appear to be an unidentified female African driver, with a heavily armed male sidekick. Extreme caution is advised."
They crackled a response back shortly: "Roger that. Gate is closing."
Bobo let out a sigh of relief as the door started moving down to cut Kenwyn's furious advance off. They'd been on his tail for the whole trip, but now he was finally secure. There was no way they'd make it through the gate in time. He closed his eyes and relaxed for the first time in a while…
*BOOM*
His eyes snapped open. That sounded like the kid's Slam Cannon! But surely he wouldn't go so far as to fire on Providence itself, would he?
Turning around, he saw the pickup truck veritably flying through the air, Rex's Slam Cannon facing the opposite direction. Bobo caught a glimpse of a projectile zooming off into the horizon, and understood what had happened immediately. Bracing himself against the back of the pickup truck, Rex'd fired his Slam Cannon away from Providence to give the vehicle a last burst of speed; just enough to squeeze under the gate.
Unfortunately, the concussive blast had caused Kenwyn to completely lose control of the truck, and the car careened wildly within the port before smashing against the wall on the far side with a crash. Bobo watched as the airbags inflated, effectively pinning his two foes to their seats – not that they needed to be restrained, seeing as they were only semi-conscious following that collision anyway.
Smirking to himself, the chimp watched as the shocked security personnel scrambled to free Rex, who was the Savior of the World; and Kenwyn Jones, who was…well, Kenwyn Jones. Cutting them loose from the wreck of a truck as quickly as humanly possible, the grunts immediately began first-aid procedures on the floor right there, checking to make sure that their hero was alright.
While all this stuff was going on, Bobo was quietly carting away his ultimate prize – the crate of champagne. Chuckling softly to himself, he disappeared into the shadows of Providence with his loot, prepared at last to launch the biggest party that the organization had ever seen.
When Rex woke up, he proceeded to get wildly drunk on grape juice at the shindig, throwing himself into the celebrations whole-heartedly and completely forgetting about his grudge with Bobo. He'd probably remember it later, but by then the entire world had bigger things to worry about.
Kenwyn took longer to forgive the chimp, but after realizing that she actually had made it back in time for the party after all, some of her anger dissipated. The rest just joined the bubbling brew of dislike that she'd always harbored for the prankster anyway, although she managed to put her vengeance on hold while celebrating with Walter and the gang.
White Knight nearly gave himself an ulcer trying to work out where the mangy primate had magicked such high-quality champagne from. It was too much bother to worry about such a trivial thing after the world had just been saved, so he decided to just ill-temperedly order a grunt to bring him a bottle of the champagne…for research purposes, naturally.
Beasly managed to sneak away in the aftermath of Bobo's dramatic entrance, and was found later in the day curled up in a quiet corner by Wade, who'd been having issues staying awake herself. After a short internal struggle, she decided to leave him be and went back to her own quarters to crash. She snapped a few pictures of the hardened agent snuggled against the wall, however, and it wasn't very long before he became known as 'the agent who'd watched too much anime the night before'. Oh, the irony.
Old Mother Wanda continued knitting her sweater's contentedly, happy to fade away into the annals of history after her brief moment in the sunshine. Aside from her neighbor's constant complaints about his stolen bike and the occasional tourist wandering through, she returned to her usual existence quite comfortably. The only remaining moment of interest in her life would be when somebody actually bothered to point out the acronym of her beloved organization, upon which she almost had a heart attack and had to lie down for weeks.
Jimmy On His Way To The Candy Store realized a deep and abiding love of demolition on that fateful day. When he finally made it to the candy store, he promptly ordered a bucket of jawbreakers and unleashed a hail of rock-hard projectiles on what was left of the Mayor's Office. After a serious talk with his mother that night, he decided to constructively channel his impulses, and became a highly successful wrecking-ball man later in life.
Anyone else I've missed out? What's that? Ah, Bobo himself.
Well, he was just happy that he'd finally been able to break Providence's long-standing ban on liquor on the premises – a hard-fought battle that he'd won at last through a good deal of luck, although he stoutly maintained that his mission had been divinely blessed.
So in the end, everyone won out. Except possibly the town of Somerset, but they were entertained. And Roswell lost, although none of us give two hoots about that. And that overweight cow, whose main source of nutrition had been taken from her. Not to mention the Providence cleanup crew, who were stuck with a rather large mess to clean up. But that's all beside the point.
Let me clarify that statement: all the characters of this drama that we actually care about won out, and that's all I deem to be important in the limited framework of this story.
And that's how Bobo smuggled an entire crate of champagne into Providence.
A/N: First attempt at a humorous Gen Rex fic. I think it turned out fine, but if you thought so too (wait for it…) just tell me in a review. There! The mandatory plea for reviews has officially been inserted!
Please disregard it as you normally do, and feel free to carry on with your everyday lives.